The Eye of Moloch (29 page)
A solid wall of marketing communications was the first category to
come up on the display. Advertising was a dark art somewhat related to his own. From what he saw, the primary challenge these days seemed to be how best to portray young people—supposedly living exciting and enviable lives—while they did nothing but stare nonstop into the little glowing screens in their hands. Ads for reality shows, ads for helpful chronic pharmaceuticals, ads for luxury vehicles, ads for bankruptcy advisors, ads for credit cards: in every stage of decline there were still desires to be stoked and needs to be created, and a last bit of money in the public’s pocket to be fought over and won.
His own business model was not centered in luring the gullible into wanting things they didn’t need. Instead, he made them know things, and love and hate things, and fear things, and thereby he made them
do
things, and the profit in that had proven nearly limitless. Despite the exorbitant fees he charged, the process was actually pretty simple: make the people learn and remember lies while burying the very truths that could save them.
And if those frightening, liberating truths should ever come to light, what then? Would it make any difference? Now, with mankind facing the final precipice, could any revelation be powerful enough to open their eyes and turn the tide?
We would see. He’d done what he could, as his wife had asked. He’d set a last, far-fetched opportunity into motion, put the intrepid players in position, and then stood aside. It was out of his hands now; the rest was destiny.
“Sir?”
Warren Landers stood at the open door.
“Yes?”
“I know it’s late but I’m glad I found you here. There’s a problem in the London office and I’m afraid they need your thoughts.”
Arthur Gardner sighed, and nodded. “We can do a conference call from here, I believe.”
“No, our links are down and we don’t have any techs on the night shift to make it happen. I’ve arranged for a video call at a vendor on Sixth Avenue. Come on, I’ll drive you there.”
Gardner met the gaze of the other man and waited, let a grim understanding pass between them, then he nodded once again, closed his book, and stood. Everything was in order, after all; he’d seen to that. There was no need for fighting it, then. He already knew his end was near, and he supposed this was as good a time as any to let it come.
“Let’s get going, then,” he said. “We mustn’t keep our colleagues waiting.”
They went together in silence to his corner office. Once there, he took a last long look around at all his treasured things, then walked to his private elevator and pushed the button, going down.
“It’s been a real experience working with you, Warren,” he said.
There was no response from the man waiting just behind him.
A pleasant
ding
issued forth from the elevator. The doors opened to a deep black emptiness.
Arthur Gardner’s thoughts were already far away as he felt a firm shove at his back. And save for the grim prospect of a possible coming judgment from on high, there was almost no fear in him at all as he fell forward into the yawning darkness.
N
oah opened his eyes from a deep, troubled sleep to see the first light of the morning. Whatever he’d been dreaming had left him with a sense that there was danger all around him.
The first thing he did was check his e-mail for a reply from Molly. There was none, and so he wrote a variation of the previous night’s message and sent it off, hopefully to find her. On his way to the kitchen, then, he saw that the couch was empty with the bedclothes folded at one end. A precisely handwritten note was placed atop the linens:
Was called away, but I’ll see you soon.
V
Noah took the long way on his route to the office. As he walked he saw the same things he’d seen the previous day when he was out with Ellen Davenport, only now the sights seemed to mean something more.
The high fence and the watchtowers would indeed serve to hold people inside, but a sudden societal collapse would require an equally effective means of keeping other people out as well.
The new housing going up, the stores of nonperishable food and drinking water, the generators and stand-alone communication systems: it was all designed to make this a huddling place in the aftermath of a planned disaster. In that event this would be a command center as well, one of several meant to support a new form of government that he’d once heard his father describe—one that was poised and ready to replace the nation described in the quaint and obsoleted U.S. Constitution.
• • •
Even before he’d turned the last corner to the hallway near the office he could already hear his two colleagues in a heated discussion through the heavy door.
As Noah keyed himself in, there was no pause in the argument. Their contention at the moment seemed to be over the ins and outs of immigration policy.
“Do you want to know why,” Ira Gershon said, “I don’t believe we should just open up the borders to anyone who can manage to sneak across the line?”
“Because old Jews are racists and hate Mexicans?” Lana Somin replied.
“No, dear. It’s the same reason we don’t let everyone into medical school who says they want to be a doctor, and we don’t let everybody into the NFL who’s ever touched a football. We don’t do that for the same reason that we can’t just suddenly say that everyone who comes here is automatically an American. Because all those things are difficult, you have to work very hard to do them properly, and not everybody will have what it takes to make the grade.”
The girl turned to her computer, where she quickly performed a search and brought an image up to full screen. It was the front page of some comedy blog based in France, one seemingly devoted to celebrating the laughable characteristics of the typical ugly American. That day’s selection showed a grotesquely overweight woman in a red-white-and-blue Snuggie cruising the mall in her three-wheeled scooter with the stars-and-stripes flapping from the handlebars.
“See that?” she asked. “This lazy tub of lard that looks like the Fourth of July threw up on her? What’s so damned difficult about that?”
Noah edged his way to the counter for a cup of coffee, hoping to stay out of the fray.
“This is what you always do,” Ira said. “You hold up some extreme example and then act like you’ve won the argument. As if that’s what everyone who loves this country is like.”
“Plenty of them are.”
“What about the Constitution?” Ira asked. “Don’t you think that makes us special in some way?”
“Words on a page.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Just more empty words, written by old dead white guys with wooden teeth who owned slaves and got rich growing tobacco.”
“Uh huh.” Ira leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully. “You’re a big fan of the Internet, aren’t you?”
Lana seemed thrown off for a moment by what seemed like a drastic change of the subject. “Yeah. So?”
“And remind me, what’s the government of the Internet like?”
“There isn’t one,” Lana said. “Not much of one, anyway.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. There’s a basic, scalable structure that’s so simple it’s brilliant, and then a few little groups that watch over protocols and standards to protect it and keep things stable, and that’s it.”
“Wow,” Ira mused. “So those are the people that thought of Amazon.com?”
“No.”
“Google? Facebook? Netflix? Reddit?”
“No—”
“How about eBay? YouTube? WordPress? Surely they thought of Wikipedia?”
“No, listen,” Lana said. “The real stuff, the content, that’s not their
damned job. Regular people invented all those things, mostly individuals and little start-ups. What you’re asking about is not some big government, there’s no need for that. All that’s needed is just the bare, boring essentials of a structure underneath.”
“Oh,” Ira said. “Kind of like a foundation.”
“Right.”
“So then, what’s the job of the government of the Internet?”
“Like I said, it isn’t much. Their job is mostly to stay out of our way. They protect and maintain the foundation, and just let things flow.”
“They just let things flow.”
“Now you’ve got it,” Lana said.
“Gosh. That’s worked out pretty well.”
“It just totally changed the world within a few years. No big deal.”
“Yes, I see,” Ira said. “You realize, I hope, that you’ve just described the genius behind the U.S. Constitution, and the magic of capitalism and the free-market system.”
Lana laughed out loud. “I think you forgot to take your meds this morning.”
“There are how many millions of people on the Internet? Billions now, and somehow it’s succeeded without tens of thousands of regulations. Sure, some of its citizens are only sitting by and watching, but a lot of them are using that unlimited freedom to build places, start businesses, create whole careers out of their imaginations. It’s a perfect environment for invention. And somehow with just those few simple rules and a handful of managers, it not only works, but like you said, it’s changing the world.”
Ira leaned to her, and continued. “That’s what this country was meant to be. Hundreds of millions of imaginations, free to invent and reinvent and adjust to the changing times, succeeding and failing and succeeding again without a big, meddling government to leech off their treasure and get in the way. That’s why it should be wonderful to live here, and why there’s a lot to learn before someone’s prepared to become a part of it.
“You just described the America those Founders envisioned, and they thought of it a quarter of a century before Babbage even designed his first steam-powered computer. So you see, kid? You might not like what our greedy, bloated government’s made of America today. But just like me, whether you realized it or not, with all your heart you love what it was once meant to be.”
A few seconds passed in a quiet stare-down, and then Lana responded matter-of-factly. “I hate you so much I can taste it.”
“Just say it, you’ll feel better. I won.”
She got up abruptly and headed for the hall with the snack machines.
Ira leaned back in his chair again, seeming quite satisfied with himself, and he looked over at Noah. “I think I’m finally starting to get through to her.”
“I really don’t think so.”
“And what about you, Mr. Gardner?” Ira asked. As had happened before between the two of them, the look on the older man’s face suggested that there was more in his question than the words alone might suggest. “What do you think the future holds for the troubled land of your birth?”
“I agree with you. I think this country was a great idea, maybe the best idea ever. Maybe it had a chance once, but now it’s over; the other side’s just too well organized. Now it’s too far gone to save.”
After a moment Ira looked quickly to the door and the windows as though to check that the coast was clear. He opened his bottom desk drawer and withdrew a small device, rolled his chair closer, and then handed the thing across.
“What’s this?” Noah asked. It looked like nothing but a coil of wire and some clips and bits of junk mounted to a small block of wood, with an earpiece dangling from one side.
“
Shh.
Hide it, and take it home with you tonight. It’s a radio.”
“I’ve already got a radio—”
“Not like this one. Don’t let anyone see it, and don’t try to tune it; it’s
already set to the right frequency. Listen to it tonight before you turn in. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
• • •
When the day was done, upon returning to his apartment, Noah immediately went to the desk and checked his e-mail. There was nothing but spam and some bureaucratic notices from the complex; again, he found no reply to his earlier messages to Molly. He wrote to her one more time, fixed a quick bite to eat, and reclined on the couch for some quiet thinking. The next thing he knew, he awakened suddenly, near midnight.
After a glass of water and a last check of his inbox he readied himself for bed, and that odd radio he’d been given came to mind. At least Ira had
said
it was a radio; when Noah retrieved it from his coat it still looked like some rejected craft project from a below-average Cub Scout.
As he lay down, he put in the earphone, expecting nothing at all, but there was a faint, intermittent sound, windy and barely there. A short chain of copper-plated paper clips was hung from a connector labeled “Antenna,” and when he held this in various positions the signal changed and gradually grew stronger. And then a man’s voice came through, thin but clear and steady behind the static, and Noah cupped a hand over his ear and closed his eyes and listened.
“. . . so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”